A cold dread settled in Rhys’s gut. The message, raw and menacing, flashed across his screen: ‘Amelia Thorne, your past has come calling.’ It wasn't just a threat; it was an execution order. The Collector wasn't playing games anymore. Amelia was in immediate danger. His jaw tightened. He should have pushed harder, demanded answers sooner. Her silence had been a shield, but now it was a target. Snatching his phone, he barked into the receiver, “Victor. My office. Now.” Minutes later, Victor Kage, Rhys’s head of security, stood before him, a man built like a granite wall, eyes sharp and assessing. Victor had been with Atlas for years, a former special forces operative, loyal and ruthlessly efficient. “Amelia Thorne,” Rhys stated, cutting to the chase. “She and her family are targets. The highest priority. Covert, 24/7. I want eyes on them, every moment. No exceptions. Her parents, her sister. Everyone connected.” Victor’s expression remained impassive. “Details, sir?” “The Collector. He’s escalating. This isn’t about money anymore. This is personal. I need a full sweep of her apartment, her parents’ house, her sister’s place. Bugging devices, surveillance, everything. I want a perimeter established around all their movements. Traffic cams, street cams, private networks—access anything you need. Consider them under full Atlas protection.” “Understood,” Victor replied, already processing the complex logistics. “She knows nothing?” Rhys shook his head. “Absolutely nothing. If she suspects, it compromises the entire operation. Maintain maximum distance. Intervene only if there’s a direct threat to life or limb. Make it look like a stroke of luck, or a random event.” “Challenging, but not impossible,” Victor acknowledged. “We’ll deploy teams immediately. Alpha team for Amelia, Bravo for her parents, Charlie for her sister. Rotations every six hours. Full tactical support on standby.” “Good,” Rhys said, a flicker of relief easing the knot in his chest. “Report directly to me. No intermediaries. This remains strictly between us. Failure is not an option.” Victor gave a curt nod, then vanished, leaving Rhys alone with the chilling silence of his office. He stared at the glowing message on his monitor, a promise forming in his mind. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Not again. Meanwhile, Amelia felt a strange sense of unease. The morning light filtering through her gallery window seemed too bright, the usual bustle of the city too loud. A shiver traced her spine, unbidden. She dismissed it as stress, the lingering tension from her confession to Rhys. Arranging a new sculpture, her movements were precise, almost mechanical. Her mind replayed Rhys’s expression, the flash of anger, then the quiet resolve. He would help. He said he would. Still, the threat of Petrov, the omnipresent shadow of The Collector, felt heavier than ever. She wondered if she had done the right thing, revealing her vulnerability. Or had she just drawn Rhys into her dangerous orbit? Later that afternoon, a delivery for new prints was scheduled. Amelia stepped out of the gallery, pulling her coat tighter against the brisk wind. She stood on the curb, her phone pressed to her ear, confirming the delivery time with the driver. A black sedan, seemingly unremarkable, idled across the street. Its occupants watched her, their gaze discreet, trained. A white van, displaying a generic flower shop logo, pulled up a block away, its rear doors subtly ajar. Inside, another pair of eyes tracked Amelia’s every move. A few minutes passed. Amelia ended her call, glancing around. The street was busy. A city bus rumbled past. A delivery truck double-parked further down the block. She took a step off the curb, intending to cross to a small cafe for a quick coffee before the prints arrived. Her mind was on the logistics, on the growing pile of bills, on the crushing weight of her family’s secret. Suddenly, a piercing screech of tires ripped through the urban din. A beat-up sedan, dark grey and nondescript, swerved sharply from the lane nearest the curb. It jumped the traffic light, accelerating rather than braking, aiming directly for the crosswalk where Amelia stood. Her blood ran cold. Time seemed to warp, stretching into an agonizing crawl. The car was impossibly close, a monstrous blur of metal and impending impact. A flash of movement, impossibly fast. From the black sedan across the street, a figure moved. From the white flower van, another. Just as the speeding vehicle was mere feet from Amelia, an almost imperceptible nudge occurred. The delivery truck, previously double-parked, began to reverse, its bumper just barely jutting into the path of the speeding sedan. At the same time, a stray shopping cart, seemingly abandoned, rolled off the curb and into the street, forcing the sedan’s driver to make a violent, desperate correction. The grey sedan shrieked, its tires fighting for traction as it veered sharply away from Amelia. It clipped the side of the delivery truck with a sickening scrape of metal, then spun out of control, slamming into a lamppost a dozen yards down the street. Its front crumpled, smoke curling from its engine. Amelia stumbled back, heart hammering against her ribs, her breath catching in her throat. Her legs felt like jelly. She stared at the wreckage, her mind struggling to comprehend what had just happened. It had been so close. Too close. A fraction of a second more, and she would have been hit. She felt a wave of nausea, her hands shaking uncontrollably. People rushed towards the crash. Sirens began to wail in the distance. The black sedan and the white van, however, simply melted back into the flow of traffic, their drivers calmly continuing their surveillance, unseen, unheard. Amelia clutched her chest, the image of the careening car seared into her memory. She couldn't shake the feeling that something had intervened, something beyond mere chance. But what? Or who? Hours later, Victor’s report landed on Rhys’s desk. “Confirmed. Incident at 4th and Elm. Grey sedan, registered to a shell company. Driver apprehended. Appears to be a hired hit. Our teams executed the diversion flawlessly. Ms. Thorne is shaken but unharmed. No suspicion on her part regarding our presence.” Rhys closed his eyes, a muscle ticking in his jaw. The Collector was upping the ante. He’d almost lost her. But not today. Not ever, if he could help it. The silent vow solidified. He would be her shield, whether she knew it or not.

Chapter 29: Unseen Protector